“You are not very young after all,” he teased; “you might easily be my mother.”

“What!  I your mother?  The mother of such an elk?  You have one mother already, and if you need another, go to Mitsha’s mother.”  With these words she fixed her gaze on the youth searchingly and inquiringly.  As her face was in the shadow Hayoue could not well notice its expression.  But he said again, and very emphatically,—­

“I tell you once more, koitza, that I will not have anything to do with the girl; she is all right, but—­” he stopped and shrugged his shoulders.  Zashue interjected,—­

“Why not?  Tyope would then be your nashtio.”

“For that very reason I do not want his daughter,” Hayoue exclaimed, looking straight at his brother.  He was in earnest about this matter, and whenever Hayoue grew serious it was best not to tease him too much.

Shotaye had treasured every word, noticed every look and gesture.  Of course she, as Tyope’s former wife, took care not to take part in the conversation as far as Tyope was concerned.

Zashue turned to her with the query,—­

“Sam[=a]m, have you any feathers?”

Shotaye was startled; what might be the import of this suspicious inquiry?  Did he know about her affair and come only as a spy?  She withheld her answer for a moment, just time enough for reflection.  It was better to seem unconcerned, so she replied quietly,—­

“I have.”

“If you have hawk’s feathers, will you give me some?”

The mention of hawk’s feathers reassured Shotaye.  At the same time it indicated to her a prospective trade, and the woman had always an eye to business.  So she placed both elbows on her knees, looked straight at Zashue, and inquired,—­

“What will you give me for them?”

“Nothing,” replied Zashue, with a laugh.

“Promise her the next owl that you may find,” Hayoue taunted.

“Be still, you crow,” scolded Shotaye, with well-feigned indignation; “you need owl’s eyes that you may sneak about in the dark after the girls.  There is not a single maiden safe when you are at the Tyuonyi.”

“And no man is safe from you,” retorted the young man.

“You are safe, at any rate.”

“When you call me a turkey-buzzard you say the truth,” he answered, “else I would not have come to you.”

Shotaye understood the venomous allusion and was going to retort, but bethought herself in time and only said in a contemptuous tone,—­

“Why should I quarrel with you, uak.”  Then turning to Zashue and changing the subject,—­

“How many feathers do you want, and what will you give me for them?”

“Four, but they must be long ones.”

“What will you give me for them?”

“Let me see the feathers.”  With this he rose.

Without replying Shotaye poured out two little bowls of broth, placed them before her visitors, said “eat,” took a lighted stick from the hearth, and crawled into the dark passage leading to her magazine.  Soon she was heard to rummage about in that apartment, and a faint glow illuminated the low tunnel.